With my shoes unnecessarily and meticulously retied, the movement of a tall, lanky form striding past draws my attention. It’s the guy all the others call Stretch. He gives off slimy vibes, and it doesn’t surprise me that no one likes him. I’ve known my fair share of guys like him. Hell, I work for a guy like him. He approaches Tabitha, eyes leering, mouth twisted in a suggestive smirk. Where West is playful, this guy is not. I don’t like it. I don’t like him. I absently start a list of men I want to kill for looking at Tabitha like she’s their next meal. It’s irrational and out of character.
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